


The Agony of Love

by Ginipig



Series: Cullistair One-Shots [18]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle at Arbor Wilds, Brief implied suicide ideation, Casual Relationship, Developing Relationship, Feelings Realization, Grey Warden Alistair (Dragon Age), Grief/Mourning, M/M, Major Character Almost Death, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22747396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: “Work comes first” is the only stipulation of Cullen and Alistair’s growing relationship. So when Alistair comes to Cullen the night before the battle in the Arbor Wilds, Cullen turns him away. He can’t afford the distraction. But the next day, Cullen is brought face-to-face with his worst nightmare — and must come to terms with his true feelings for Alistair.
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, cullistair - Relationship
Series: Cullistair One-Shots [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604995
Comments: 38
Kudos: 61





	1. Despair

The night before the Inquisition’s attack on the Temple of Mythal saw Cullen in his tent reviewing maps and strategies and orders long past sunset. He barely registered the time of night, but he could see the glow of fires and hear voices through the crack in the flap that served as a door, so it mustn’t be too late.

He heard footsteps outside and, expecting one of his lieutenants or a messenger from Leliana, did not look up. “Enter.”

“Still hard at work,” said Alistair. “Why am I not surprised?”

When Cullen raised his head, he didn’t see one of Alistair’s trademark grins or even a smirk, and he bristled. “Perhaps because at dawn we are advancing into what may be the final push against Corypheus?” He bowed his head once again to continue his notes on the map. “Did you need something?”

“Depends.” In Cullen’s periphery, Alistair crossed his arms and settled into a wide, balanced stance. “Are you asking as the Commander of the Inquisition, or as the man I’ve been sharing a bed with for the better part of the last few months?”

Cullen marked a tertiary path toward the temple. One could never have too many alternate routes. “The former.”

“Then no.”

Cullen flipped through his pile of maps and noticed yet another alternate. Excellent. They would need to be marked for his lieutenants to have in hand tomorrow.

Alistair shifted awkwardly in a far too distracting way.

Cullen sighed and finally looked up. “Well? What do you need?”

Alistair’s gaze met his for an instant before it began to wander the room. Alistair opened and closed his fists at his side, then swallowed and looked Cullen in the eyes.

“I was wondering if we might talk.”

Cullen waited for more, and when it didn’t come, he snapped, “About?”

“Well …” Alistair took a deep breath. “About tomorrow.”

“You just said you weren’t here for —”

Alistair turned and paced a few steps to the side, running his hands through his hair. “Could we just spend some time together?”

Was he serious? Yes, they’d been spending more and more time in each other’s company over the past few months, usually at night. Cullen hadn’t slept next to someone in … well, ever, and it was far more of a comfort than he could have imagined. His nightmares and withdrawal symptoms were far fewer when Alistair was with him, and if they did occur they faded more quickly when Alistair was there to hold him. And he’d never known anyone who could make him laugh or bring a smile to his face better than Alistair. Not to mention that with all the preparation for the march to the Arbor Wilds, they’d hardly seen each other in the past several weeks.

But _now_ , of all times? He couldn’t afford the distraction.

So he shook his head and pulled out another map to mark the tertiary path. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I know. I’m asking if you can _make_ time. Not long, maybe an hour —”

“An hour?” That was an hour he could spend brainstorming strategies for various worst-case scenarios. “My soldiers need me to do everything I can to ensure victory and keep them safe. I can’t afford to waste any time tonight.”

Alistair rocked back as if Cullen had shoved him, but Cullen returned to his maps. He didn’t have time for Alistair’s dramatics, either.

“I — I know …” And oh, Maker, now he was babbling. “It’s just that tomorrow is a big push, like you said, and we both know there’s going to be casualties. Anything could happen, and I guess I’m just worried about everyone’s safety, especially —”

Cullen shuffled through his papers for the orders he was to give his lieutenants tomorrow. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m sure Cole could lend a sympathetic ear.”

Alistair fell silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was much quieter. “That’s not what I meant, Cullen. I —”

Cullen sighed and looked up yet again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. This is our biggest battle since Adamant, and I refuse to let it become another Haven because I was underprepared. This comes first.”

That had been one of the stipulations of their relationship. That it couldn’t interfere with their work. Cullen had insisted, and Alistair knew this.

But that didn’t keep Alistair from looking like Cullen had just kicked his mabari.

Cullen sighed. He hated seeing Alistair upset. When he spoke again, his tone was much softer. “But you should try to get as much rest as you can. You and your Wardens are an important part of the strategy. We’ll be depending on you.”

Alistair opened his mouth as if to argue, but for once decided against it, thank the Maker. “Right.” He nodded several times in succession; it was clear he wasn’t happy, but Cullen couldn’t do much about that now. “In that case, I probably won’t see you before everything starts, what with the Wardens’ pivotal position on the opposite side of the field, but … be safe tomorrow.”

If Cullen didn’t know better, he’d have thought Alistair’s voice trembled at the end. But then Alistair flashed his trademark grin, and it warmed Cullen’s insides as it always did.

“You know, stay away from pointy things, especially the red ones,” he continued. “And if all goes well, we’ll be celebrating the long-overdue death of an extra nasty darkspawn tomorrow night!”

They stared at each other in silence, and a wave of guilt swept over Cullen. If he had his way, of course he’d spend the night with Alistair. But he couldn’t.

Not when they were so close to defeating Corypheus. There would be time for everything else after.

“Good night, Cullen.” Alistair’s voice was as gentle as it always was whenever he said the words, whether they were whispered as they fell asleep or said with a casual wave as they went to their separate rooms.

“Good night.” Then he added, “Maker watch over you, Alistair.”

Only then did he realize that he had never truly meant the words more than he did now,

Alistair gave a short nod and turned to leave.

As Cullen surveyed his papers, he thought he heard Alistair mutter something else, but when he looked up, Alistair was gone.

* * *

Cullen led a rapidly shrinking squadron of soldiers down to the temple. With every new wave of red templars or demons or darkspawn they reached, more had to stay behind to fight while Cullen continued forward. He didn’t like it, but he needed to trust his soldiers and continue to carve a path for the Inquisitor.

The alternate routes had been their saving grace. He weaved in and out of them as they advanced.

But the Inquisition forces weren’t the only ones using them. A rather large hoard of darkspawn sprang up seemingly out of nowhere, surrounding Cullen and his squadron with half a dozen archers and a couple of mages — or, what was it Alistair had called them? Essen … emmin … emissaries. That was it.

Unfortunately, for some reason smites didn’t work very well on darkspawn, so Cullen’s templars barely made a dent. A few of his mages managed to take out one, but Cullen quickly realized they wouldn’t last long unless they could do the same to the other. So he engaged it in combat, and he did fairly well at first.

Until the fireballs.

His shield had long ago heated beyond _uncomfortably warm_ and was now approaching _too hot to hold_ far more quickly than he’d hoped, and the emissary had kept him too distracted to spare a glance toward the rest of his squadron. His mind raced as he ran through scenarios and strategies, the handle he gripped beginning to sear his skin —

And then the heat dissipated with an odd gurgle.

Peeking over his rapidly cooling shield, he saw the emissary grasping uselessly at the dagger embedded in its neck before it collapsed.

“Cullen, duck!”

He did, just in time to see Alistair — followed by what seemed to be his entire Warden contingent — loose a second dagger that whizzed over Cullen’s head and, from the sound of it, into a vital bit of the darkspawn behind him.

“Go!” Alistair shouted, pulling his shield off his back and slicing a darkspawn archer through the middle with the sword already in his other hand.

For a moment, Cullen stood in awe at Alistair’s ferocity. Though they’d sparred and even fought side-by-side for a while at Adamant, he’d never seen Alistair fight darkspawn before.

But Maker, was he a beautiful sight.

“That’s an order, Commander!” Alistair yelled. “The Inquisitor’s on her way, and she’s going to expect you to be farther along than this!”

“What about —”

“You can’t afford to waste any more time!” Alistair decapitated a smaller darkspawn — genlock? — with a calculated spin, blood erupting in a spurt. Meeting Cullen’s gaze and flashing a ferocious grin, he shouted, “We’ve got this, Rutherford! _Go!_ ”

And so Cullen rounded up the remains of his squad and left the Wardens to fight the darkspawn.

But not without one last look at Alistair before he lost sight of them.

Worry, small and dense like a stone, settled deep in the pit of his stomach. He shoved it aside.

For later.

* * *

The battle was over, though not as successfully as they would have liked. Samson had been captured, but the witch Morrigan had drunk from some powerful well of elven knowledge with the Inquisitor’s approval, a decision he vehemently disagreed with and of which he dreaded to learn the eventual consequences.

Even worse, Corypheus had not only escaped, but had done so in a most gruesome and terrifying way — he’d possessed the body of a dead Warden. The revelation was shocking, but Cullen found himself incapable of feeling much else except gratitude that Alistair had been far afield at the time.

Now he led his troops in recovery — of bodies for the pyre, of names of the dead, of weapons or strategies or anything else they might find useful going forward.

“Commander, ser.” A scout spoke from behind him, and he turned. “A message for you from Sister Leliana.”

Likely an update on work at the main camp. He waved it away. “Later.”

“It’s marked urgent, ser. And for your eyes only.”

He knew Leliana well enough to understand that she wouldn’t use such phrases lightly and snatched the letter.

> _Your presence is required at the main camp immediately._
> 
> _-L_

That worry he’d shoved aside during the battle made itself known once again. Had something happened? Was the Inquisitor all right? What if there was an issue with Samson?

The hour was late, long after sunset, so he quickly issued orders for efforts to cease until dawn tomorrow before leaving for the main camp.

As he made his way back, his mind conjured possible scenarios that would require his presence, each worse than the last. What if the fighting had started again? What if Corypheus had attacked the camp?

What if — no. He refused to even contemplate it.

Upon arriving, he collared the nearest scout and demanded to see the Inquisitor, only to see her speaking with Josephine, looking exhausted and blood-spattered, but no more so than when he’d last seen her.

“Cullen,” she said as he approached, and her tone was solemn. “Leliana is just outside her tent.”

She lay a hand on his arm and squeezed, which only served to intensify his feeling of dread. He raced in the direction the Inquisitor had indicated.

A look of something approaching relief crossed Leliana’s face when she saw him, but her eyes were red and puffy.

He’d never seen her so … emotional.

The worry expanded until he felt sick. “What’s happened?” he demanded. He was afraid of the answer, of what could have affected her so personally.

She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “I should prepare you before we enter. Alistair —”

At Alistair’s name, Cullen’s dread coalesced into fear, sharpening into a knife poised over his heart as he shoved past Leliana.

The instant he entered the tent, the knife drove deep into his heart with a force that shattered it, millions of pieces embedding themselves in his body like shrapnel.

Pain, worse than lyrium withdrawals, worse than the torture he’d endured at Kinloch, paralyzed him. Not even his worst nightmares — the only place such a horrific reality could be imagined — could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him.

Somehow he managed to stumble forward, finally collapsing to his knees at Leliana’s cot.

Because upon it lay Alistair, unmoving and silent beneath layers of blankets that covered everything but his face. Maker’s breath, his face, his beautifully expressive face was now blank and still, his eyes closed, his skin a grayish pallor that could only mean one thing.

Cullen lay a trembling hand on Alistair’s chest and bowed his head until their foreheads touched.

When he finally gasped for air, he realized from the sudden silence the source of the low keening noise he’d barely registered until now.

Himself.

He pulled Alistair into his arms and clutched him to his chest, hoping to ease the gaping emptiness where his heart used to be. His tears finally fell as he rested his forehead against Alistair’s, which lacked any living warmth.

Alistair’s limp arms acted as heavy counterweights, when before they’d always wrapped around Cullen in tight, caring embraces. His head, usually thrown back in laughter, now lolled like a doll’s until Cullen supported it with a hand, as he would a babe’s.

There were no words, no sobs, no amount of tears that would ever ease the helpless rage and grief Cullen felt for this man who had saved him in so many ways. Not even the almost feral cries he couldn’t keep inside could relieve the pain he knew would always be a part of him as long as he lived.

And never had he wished harder for death than now, to end the emptiness Alistair left behind.

He heard people moving and perhaps even speaking to him, but they hardly mattered.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without Alistair.

“Cullen!”

Leliana’s firm grip on his shoulder brought him back to the dull, barren wasteland of the Thedas where he would never again see Alistair smile, hear him laugh, feel warmth at the playful twinkle in his eyes.

“Cullen.” Leliana crouched to meet his gaze, her tone urgent. “Please, Cullen, lay him down, lest you injure him even further.”

Cullen sucked in a choking gasp. “Is he —”

“He is alive.” Leliana nodded, wiping tears from her cheeks. “But only just. So please —”

Before she could finish, Cullen lowered Alistair to the bed, as carefully and gently as though he were holding the most precious thing in Thedas.

Because Alistair was … everything.

He cradled Alistair’s head all the way into the pillow, pressing his lips to Alistair’s too-cold forehead and then Alistair’s frozen and unmoving mouth.

But he slipped a hand into one of Alistair’s and cupped his cheek with the other before he finally turned to Leliana.

“What happened.” It was a demand, not a question.

“A demon.” Leliana remained on her knees next to him, running gentle fingers through Alistair’s hair. “A despair demon.”

Having only just been pulled from the depths of true despair, Cullen shivered.

“His Wardens say he rushed forward to attack and then … stopped. It hit him with a powerful ice curse —”

“Which is why he’s so cold.” Cullen’s thumb brushed up and down Alistair’s cheek, which still felt as cold as —

He swallowed. He couldn’t even think the word.

Leliana nodded. “The blankets are enchanted to keep him warm and hopefully raise his body temperature. But he sustained many more physical injuries while he stood literally frozen. He has yet to regain consciousness.”

“Why didn’t you —”

“I sent for you as soon as I learned of it.” Leliana turned to Cullen at last, tone stern. “And then I ordered for him to be brought here, and for our best healers to see to him. Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one who cares for him.”

Cullen bowed his head. “Of course not. I apologize.”

She watched him for a moment, fingers still in Alistair’s hair, before her gaze softened. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I tried to prepare you.”

Their gazes met, and the corner of her mouth curved slightly upward, though not unkindly.

Cullen snorted. “So you did.” He swallowed. “I shall endeavor to listen next time, should there be one.”

His gaze drifted to Alistair once again. He was so unnaturally still and silent and cold. It wasn’t right.

“You said —” he began, trying to recall her description. “You said that he stopped attacking before he was hit with the ice magic? Why would he do that?”

“Have you ever fought a despair demon?”

Cullen shook his head.

“Demons feed upon their namesake,” Leliana explained. The confident and matter-of-fact way she spoke reminded him of training and Chantry services, listening to one of the sisters or brothers teach about the dangers of humanity’s sins. “Desire demons tempt their victims, growing stronger from their struggle. Despair demons force their victims to imagine their worst nightmares and fears, feeding off the despair they feel. I believe the demon worked its magic on Alistair, distracting him mentally long before any physical attacks.”

For an instant, Cullen’s mind returned to the eternal moments when he thought Alistair dead. What would the demon have shown Alistair to distract him so? He wondered, selfishly, if it had to do with him.

He leaned down to kiss Alistair’s cheek, stomach roiling with shame. “Last night, he asked me to spend some time with him. He was worried about today. But I told him I didn’t have time and sent him away.”

“I know.” At his questioning look, Leliana answered, “He came to me next. And he wasn’t worried about today. He was worried about _you_.”

Cullen buried his face in one hand; the other still clasped Alistair’s tightly.

 _Anything could happen,_ Alistair had said last night, _and I guess I’m just worried about everyone’s safety, especially —_

And Cullen had referred him to Cole.

_That’s not what I meant, Cullen. I —_

He’d cut him off twice. He’d told him he was too busy. How could he have been so oblivious?

No — cruel.

Alistair was a man who had lost too much in his life, and all he’d wanted was to talk to someone he cared about before another potential loss. He’d been worried for Cullen.

And yet, even after Cullen’s atrocious behavior, Alistair had told him to be safe, to _stay away from pointy things, especially the red ones_. Even when rejected, Alistair had given everything he had.

Cullen didn’t deserve Alistair, and Alistair deserved a man far better than Cullen.

Cullen lowered his hand from his face and stroked Alistair’s cheek, his vision blurring. After a shuddering, almost gasping inhale, he said softly, “He saved my life today.”

“Oh?” Cullen recognized Leliana’s tone as the one she used when learning a fact she didn’t know and wanted to add to her tapestry of secrets.

Cullen told her what happened; her small but knowing smile at his comment about emissaries being difficult to fight was the closest to a happy emotion either of them had expressed since entering the tent.

“The last words I said to him today were half an interrupted question,” Cullen said thickly. “And last night I refused to speak with him because he was distracting me from work. What if he —”

“Do not think like that.” Leliana’s eyes and voice hardened. “His warmth and humor belie his warrior’s heart. He is not one to give up when things grow difficult, and he has survived far worse than this. He is receiving the best possible care. He _will_ be fine.”

Cullen couldn’t tell if she was trying harder to convince him or herself.

She stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. “When he wakes, you should tell him how you feel.”

Cullen bowed his head. “He deserves better than me.”

Leliana sighed and crouched to meet his gaze. “I have never, in the time that I’ve known you, seen you display even a fraction of the emotion you showed just now when you believed him lost. You were stupid last night, yes. But Alistair deserves someone who loves him as fiercely as you do.”

Cullen looked away. Alistair deserved someone who treated him well. Not a weak, lyrium-addicted former templar who was frightened of anything that might make him happy. But now wasn’t the time to argue.

Leliana placed a gentle kiss upon Alistair’s forehead. Then she stood to leave. “I shall tell the Inquisitor you will be unavailable until further notice.”

Cullen nodded, eyes never leaving Alistair, still too cold and silent and still.

Maker, he was so frightened.

“Leliana,” he said softly, and he heard her stop. “Will you pray with me?”

Her footsteps drew closer again, and then she was kneeling beside him, hands folded and head bowed.

“ _Maker,_ ” she began, “ _though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light._ ”

Trials. The most comforting verses in times of difficulty.

“ _I shall weather the storm._ ” He joined her, his thoughts filled with Alistair, healthy and laughing and smiling. “ _I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder …_ ”


	2. Agony

Cullen couldn’t say how long he and Leliana prayed together at Alistair’s bedside. That wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him during vigils — time often lost meaning when one gave oneself over to the Maker.

But too soon, as they reached the end of a verse, a voice spoke from behind them.

“I don’t wish to interrupt,” the Inquisitor said, and she sounded as though she meant it. “How is he?”

“No change,” Leliana said, and Cullen squeezed Alistair’s hand. “Did you need something, Inquisitor?”

“I do, yes. I’ve done what I can, but I’m afraid I need my spymaster and commander to assist and advise me at such a delicate time for the Inquisition.”

Leliana let out a soft sigh but responded, “Of course, Inquisitor,” and stood.

But Cullen didn’t move. “No,” he said.

_I have faced armies with You as my shield …_

“Cullen,” the Inquisitor said. “I know Alistair is important to you, but —”

_… and though I bear scars beyond counting …_

“I will not leave him now,” said Cullen, clutching Alistair’s hand in both of his own. “I ignored him last night in favor of work. I will not do so again.”

_… nothing can break me except Your absence._

“I will work with Cullen’s lieutenants on his behalf, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

Though Cullen didn’t know if she did so for his sake or Alistair’s, he did not try to hold back his tears of gratitude.

“I —” The Inquisitor paused. “Very well. Thank you both.”

The tent flap swished against itself, and Cullen knew she had left. She was probably angry at him, but right now, he didn’t care.

“Thank you,” he said softly to Leliana. “I’ll be here if you need to speak with me.”

“One of my scouts will be stationed outside. Let me know if anything changes.”

Then she, too, left, and Cullen was alone with Alistair.

“I know you have mixed feelings about the Maker,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Alistair’s forehead. “But right now, I will take whatever help I can find.”

He bowed his head once again.

“ _Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide …_ ”

* * *

Cullen once again lost track of time, deep as he was in prayer for Alistair. But at some point, he looked up to find that not only had color returned to Alistair’s face, making him look peacefully asleep rather than dangerously injured, but his skin also glistened with a light sheen of sweat.

Cullen jumped to his feet and pressed the back of his hand to Alistair’s forehead. Maker, he was burning up.

“I need a healer!” he shouted, ripping the enchanted heating blankets from Alistair.

Relief bubbled in his chest; Alistair was warm once again, in spite of the demon’s magic. Perhaps he would be all right after all.

Cullen knelt back down to press his forehead to Alistair’s just as Dorian, Vivienne, and Solas burst into the tent.

Well, Dorian burst into the tent. Solas and Vivienne entered far less dramatically.

“What’s wrong?” Dorian demanded. “Is he — Maker, he’s sweating!”

“It would seem the blankets succeeded in their goal,” said Solas.

Vivienne hummed in agreement, eyes closed in concentration. “Indeed. From what I can tell, he should recover fully. Physically, that is.”

“As opposed to what?” Cullen asked, his short-lived relief dampened by fear.

“Despair demons can wreak havoc on the mind,” Solas explained. “It is unclear what sort of psychic damage he might have sustained. That cannot be assessed until he wakes.”

Dorian crossed his arms. “And what of your spirit healing?”

“I did what I could,” Solas replied sternly. “The rest must wait until he wakes.”

“And he will, yes?”

Cullen and all three mages spun to find Leliana entering the tent.

“Wake?” she clarified as she arrived at Alistair’s bedside. She handed Cullen a few damp cloths.

“Nothing can be certain, my dear.” Vivienne rested a hand on Leliana’s arm. “But unless the mental damage was extensive, I see no reason to worry.”

“Thank you all,” Cullen said softly, using one of the cloths to wipe the sweat from Alistair’s brow.

Solas and Vivienne nodded and left, leaving him alone with Dorian and Leliana.

“Not to be a mother hen.” Dorian lay a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “But when was the last time you ate?”

“I’m fine.”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “I’ll have a meal, a basin, and a change of clothes brought to you.”

Before Cullen could protest, Dorian wrinkled his nose. “She’s quite right. It simply won’t do to have him wake up to your blood-spattered armor. He might think he’s in a nightmare.”

He knew Dorian was joking, but Cullen couldn’t find it in him to smile. Not until he could see Alistair’s again.

“And a distraction would do you good.” Dorian snapped his fingers. “Surely someone has a chess set we could borrow, and if not, we can play the old-fashioned way — on a piece of parchment.”

“I don’t need to be distracted.” Cullen shook his head. “Not from him.” He ran his trembling fingers through Alistair’s now sweat-damp hair before running one of the damp cloths through it. “That’s where I went wrong before. All this time I’ve been treating _him_ as the distraction.”

“Yes, because sitting here hating yourself will fix everything,” Dorian snapped.

His tone was short and snide, but Cullen didn’t care. He would sit or kneel at Alistair’s side until Alistair sat up, grinned, and assured him he was worrying over nothing.

Dorian took a deep breath and when he spoke again, he did so more gently. “This isn’t helping him or you, Cullen.”

“Nor would he want you to exhaust yourself on his behalf,” added Leliana. “If I brought you your lieutenants’ reports of the battle, would you read them?”

Dorian nodded. “That might keep you from driving yourself insane from worry.”

Cullen shrugged. “All right.”

It wasn’t worth arguing about. The sooner he agreed, the sooner he could be alone with Alistair. He didn’t have to read whatever reports they brought him.

“Let me know when he wakes,” Dorian said. “I’ll be close by.”

Leliana squeezed Alistair’s hand. “I’ll have scouts bring you what you need.”

As they both left, he found himself unable to hold back tears.

The only thing he needed was for Alistair to be all right.

* * *

Cullen hated to admit it, but after washing, changing, and eating a little, he did feel marginally better.

He still refused to touch the several-inch-high stack of reports at his feet, though. After ignoring Alistair in favor of work for so long, it felt like a betrayal to do so now, when Alistair needed him most.

So instead, he took a page from Alistair’s book.

He talked.

He spoke about everything — how the battle had turned out, how they’d captured Samson (alive), how Morrigan had drunk from the Well of Sorrows (and oh, he knew Alistair would have Opinions about that when he woke), how bravely Alistair’s Wardens had fought and the names of the few who had perished. He told Alistair how difficult the battle had been for him, due to the red lyrium but also his own worry — for his soldiers, for the Inquisition, and, most importantly, for Alistair.

He talked about all the things he’d missed telling Alistair during the weeks he’d been too busy preparing for the march on the Arbor Wilds.

He practiced what he would say if — no, when Alistair woke.

_Thank you for saving my life._

_I am sorry for how I treated you the other night. You deserve better, and I swear to the Maker that I will be better._

_I thought I’d lost you, and I have never known such pain._

_I love you._

He was in the middle of explaining how a small piece of wood under one of the legs of his desk had been responsible for the wobble that had driven him to near insanity a few weeks ago when Alistair began to stir.

“Alistair?”

A moan in response.

“Can you hear me?”

After a few moments, Alistair blinked his eyes open and murmured, “Cullen?”

“Yes,” Cullen said eagerly, caressing Alistair’s face as his vision blurred. “I’m right here. How are you feeli —”

Without warning, Alistair shot into a sitting position and grabbed him by the shirt. “Cullen!”

And then his composure crumbled, and he burst into tears like a child after a nightmare.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I tried, I did, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

Shocked and a little scared by this sudden torrent of emotion, Cullen placed his hands atop Alistair’s, which still clenched his shirt in their white-knuckled grip.

“It’s all right, Alistair.” Cullen tried to stay calm, for Alistair’s sake.

“No, no, no, no,” Alistair sobbed, shaking his head vehemently. “It’s not all right, I tried to get to you, but I wasn’t fast enough. I’m never fast enough, I’m always too late …”

“Shh.” Cullen took Alistair’s face in his hands and tried to penetrate the panic. “It’s all right, Alistair. I’m all right. You weren’t too late. You saved me.”

But Alistair’s eyes were unfocused and he didn’t seem to hear Cullen, or if he did, he didn’t comprehend the words. “No, no, no, I’m so sorry, Cullen, I’m so sorry, I saw it, I saw him hurting you, but I wasn’t fast enough, I wasn’t good enough …”

“Cullen!” Dorian called from the direction of the tent flap. “What’s —”

“I need help!” Cullen called over his shoulder, but he didn’t break eye contact with Alistair, who was hysterical now, sobbing and gasping on the verge of hyperventilation. Cullen worried he might harm himself.

“I’m sorry, Cullen, I tried, I tried, I tried …”

“Shh, it’s all right,” he said softly, wiping Alistair’s tears with his thumbs. “I’m okay. Everyone’s all right. It wasn’t real.”

“Cullen …” Alistair’s grip on Cullen’s shirt loosened, and he began to sway. “I … I … Cullen …”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed into Cullen’s arms.

“Alistair!” Cullen cried, struggling with Alistair’s once again limp and heavy form.

Maker, no …

“He’s asleep.” Dorian stood at Cullen’s shoulder. “A simple spell to keep him from hurting himself. He seemed to believe he was still in whatever horrific vision the despair demon had conjured.”

Cullen succeeded in maneuvering Alistair to lay in his arms like a babe. Aside from the tears on his flushed cheeks, he looked as he had before he’d woken. Cullen confirmed for himself that Alistair was indeed breathing before gently laying him back onto the bed.

“Why?” he whispered, tenderly wiping Alistair’s face once again with a damp cloth.

“It’s likely the last thing he remembers.” Dorian placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Unable to speak due to the lump in his throat, Cullen nodded, his gaze never leaving Alistair.

Dorian gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll inform Solas, Vivienne, and Leliana. But I consider this a good sign.”

Cullen didn’t respond, and after a few moments, he heard Dorian leave the tent.

* * *

Alistair’s short but intense outburst rattled Cullen. His mind would not cease replaying the images of Alistair gripping his shirt, wild eyes glazed, while the desperate agony in his every word squeezed his heart like a vise.

_“I saw it, I saw him hurting you, but I wasn’t fast enough … I’m never fast enough, I’m always too late …”_

Perhaps most haunting of all were Alistair’s repeated apologies. Cullen didn’t consider himself to be in possession of a particularly active imagination, but it was apparently sufficient for his mind to conjure increasingly horrifying scenarios of what the demon might have shown Alistair.

When his mind’s continued repetition brought him to the edge of emptying his stomach, he knew he needed a true distraction. So he reluctantly took the stack of reports and began to read.

But even then, he refused to release Alistair’s hand, squeezing every so often to remind himself that Alistair was still alive, and also perhaps in the hope that Alistair, even in unconsciousness, might draw comfort from it.

He wasn’t sure, but at least several hours must have passed. Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian checked on Alistair in turns; Leliana stopped in a few times; a scout brought him a second plate of food, which he ignored in favor of another large stack of reports for his review, which he devoured.

He had nearly finished the stack when Alistair’s hand finally, thankfully, _miraculously_ squeezed back.

“Still hard at work,” Alistair’s scratchy voice followed. “Why am I not surprised?”

Cullen tossed the stack of parchment carelessly to the floor and leaned forward, his vision blurring.

“Thank the Maker!” He chuckled through his tears, resting a palm on Alistair’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Alistair let his eyes fall closed and pressed his face into Cullen’s hand. “I’ve been better.”

Cullen actually laughed in his relief; if Alistair was joking at his own expense, he would be all right. “You have, yes. Do you remember what happened?”

Alistair frowned, concentrating. “Fade rift. Demons. Cold.” His eyes shot open again, and he asked urgently, “Is everyone okay?”

Cullen couldn’t help but caress his thumb up and down Alistair’s cheek. Of course he would first ask about others.

“We suffered a few hundred casualties, including three of your Wardens.” Alistair’s expression fell, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “Several thousand of our soldiers were injured. The Iron Bull, in particular, took several hard hits, but he’s all right now. Everyone else is fine.”

Alistair swallowed. When he opened his eyes, they shone brightly, and his voice hitched a little as he asked, “And you?”

For a moment, Cullen couldn’t speak, so he nodded several times in quick succession. “No pointy things,” he added. “Not even the red ones.”

He received a gentle smirk in response. “Did we win?”

Cullen gave him a brief summary — including Samson’s capture and Corypheus’s escape, but nothing about Morrigan, nor about Corypheus’s possession of one of the Wardens. Alistair didn’t need that sort of stress right now.

As Cullen continued, he began to relay some of the smaller events he’d read about in the reports, but only in order to stall. He needed a bit more time to gather his courage to confess the truly important things to Alistair.

The longer he spoke, the more intensely Alistair watched him, but Cullen was so thankful to see those beautiful eyes open and alert that he gladly held Alistair’s gaze.

He was detailing the way Dagna’s rune had worked on Samson’s armor when Alistair interrupted.

“What are you doing here, Cullen?”

Cullen blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. What sort of question was that?

“I — I was waiting for you to wake up. You were …” Cullen took a deep breath to steady himself. “Unconscious for a long time. You were too cold from the demon’s spell, and we were worried that —” No. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. “I was quite worried about you.”

Alistair nodded, not looking at him. “Is Leliana around?”

“Yes, I can — I told her I’d let her know when you woke.” He leaned back in his chair and made to stand. “Dorian, Solas, and Vivienne will want to check on you, too, as they’ve been working together to heal you.”

Alistair nodded again, though he said nothing.

But Cullen wasn’t ready for the others to come in yet. He needed to tell Alistair …

Everything.

So he relaxed again and leaned forward. “Before they all come in here to fuss over you, there are some things I’d like to say if — if that’s all right.”

Alistair’s hands opened and closed at his side, his gaze only flicking to Cullen briefly before focusing on the roof of the tent. “Okay.”

In lieu of taking one of Alistair’s fidgeting hands, Cullen placed a hand on his arm. “First, I want to say that I am truly sorry for how I treated you on the eve of the battle.”

“It’s okay,” Alistair said quickly.

“No, it’s not. I should have taken the time to listen to you and to be with you, and I am sorrier than I can say.”

Alistair looked at him then, but his expression was neutral. “I know. And I get it. You made it clear from the beginning that your work comes first.”

Something was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. What was happening right now?

“Alistair.” As he had during his long vigil, he cupped Alistair’s cheek, turning his face until their gazes met. “You were severely wounded. For a few moments, I thought I’d lost you, and those moments were the most painful of my life. I — I love you.”

Through his blurred vision, he saw Alistair’s brow furrow deeply. “You don’t have to say that.”

Cullen sucked in a gasp that was almost a sob. “What?”

“I know you were worried, and you feel guilty about what happened the other night, but it’s okay. You don’t have to say any more.”

“But I —” What? What was he saying? Cullen exhaled shakily and pressed his fingers into Alistair’s cheek for emphasis. “Alistair, _I love you_.”

Alistair squeezed his eyes shut and jerked away from Cullen’s hand, shaking his head. “Please don’t.” His voice trembled. When he opened his eyes again, they glittered with unshed tears. “I know you. I’m injured, and you’re scared and feeling guilty, and right now you’re sitting here and saying _that_ , but it won’t last. Next time there’s a lot of work — the next big push against Corypheus — you’ll need to do it, and it’ll be the same as last night.” He blinked rapidly and managed to succeed at keeping any tears from falling.

Unlike Cullen. “No, it won’t. I promise —”

Alistair shook his head again. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You were working when I woke up.” He nodded in the direction of the reports on the floor.

Cullen slid from the chair to his knees, clutching Alistair’s arm in desperation, begging him to understand. “No, no, no. That was different. I needed a distraction because —”

Alistair lifted his arm and, for the first time, he cupped Cullen’s cheek. “It’s all right. I know this work is important to you because of everything that happened in Kirkwall. It’s part of what I love about you. And then with the lyrium withdrawal …” He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and a sob. “And it’s my fault, too, because this isn’t the first time I couldn’t keep my feelings from getting out of hand. I thought I could, but I can’t, and that’s not fair to you. So I promise that I understand, and it’s okay.”

No. No! He wasn’t listening, he didn’t understand!

“Alistair.” Cullen reached up to where Alistair’s hand lay against his cheek and urgently grasped it in his own. “When Leliana sent for me and I saw you laying here, I thought —” His voice gave out. Maker, he couldn’t say it, not even now. It still hurt too much to think about. “And then I realized —”

Alistair placed his thumb over Cullen’s lips. “Don’t. Please. Just …” He dropped his hand and turned his face away. “It’s better for us both. You need to focus on your work. And …” He swallowed. “So do I.”

Cullen sat stunned. This wasn’t what he wanted. It wouldn’t be better for him.

But Alistair was right — he couldn’t promise he would put Alistair first in the future. Not if the lives of thousands were at stake.

He bowed his head. He couldn’t be what Alistair needed.

Alistair deserved better.

“Could you …” Alistair inhaled sharply on a gasp. “Could you go get Leliana?”

Cullen wiped a hand down his face and cleared his throat. “Of course. Yes.” He turned to pick up his reports, focusing on making them into a neat pile. “I’ll find Dorian and the others. They’ll want to check on you.”

Then he stood. He clutched the reports in one hand and brushed the fingers of his other through Alistair’s hair.

Alistair turned, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, and for the second time in less than a day, Cullen’s heart shattered.

He’d done this. It was all his fault.

He gently brushed his fingers down Alistair’s cheek, and Alistair, stoic until now, let his eyes fall closed as a single tear finally escaped.

Cullen wiped it away with his thumb. “I will always care for you, and I am sorrier than I can say that I have hurt you. But I thank the Maker for keeping you safe, and I will pray for Him to watch over you always.”

Then he bent down and kissed Alistair for the final time.

He put everything he felt into it, hoping that one day Alistair might understand how much he wished he was worthy of him. How much he cared.

How much he truly loved him, and how bleak his life would be without him.

When they parted, Alistair’s eyes roved Cullen’s face, as if he, like Cullen, was trying to memorize every bit of their last moments together.

“Dorian,” Cullen called, eyes never leaving Alistair. “He’s awake.”

Dorian immediately burst into the tent. “Ah! It’s about time!”

“Rest well,” Cullen whispered. “And be safe.”

Alistair nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Dorian asked. “You gave us all quite the fright.”

And with that, Cullen turned and walked out, leaving his heart behind.

* * *

On his way back to his own tent, Cullen was surprised to see the sun, as it was now a few hours after dawn. He stopped by a table where Leliana was giving a morning briefing to her scouts, waiting patiently until she was finished, which she did quickly once she saw him.

“How is he?”

“Awake,” Cullen said, impressed by the steadiness of his own voice. “And asking for you.”

“Is he —”

“Dorian is with him now, but he seems to be recovered.”

Leliana turned in the direction of her tent. “Thank the Maker for —” She stopped when she realized he wasn’t following her. “Cullen?”

He motioned toward his own tent with the stack of reports. “He asked to speak with you alone, and I have a night’s worth of work to catch up on.”

She frowned. “Did you talk with him?”

“I did.”

“About —”

“Yes.”

She took a step toward him. “What did he say?”

“He wishes to speak with you.”

“Cullen —”

“I’ll be in my tent if you need me.”

And he spun on his heel and sped in the direction of his tent.

On the way, he informed messengers for the Inquisitor, Josephine, Leliana, and himself that he was returning to his duties.

Five minutes later, he was settled in his tent at the small work table that served for a desk.

Eyes closed, he took several slow, deep, agonizing breaths. Then he pulled out a blank pile of parchment, grabbed his quill, opened his inkpot, and with a slightly trembling hand began to write letters of condolence to the families of the soldiers he'd lost.


	3. Love

Several hours, another uneaten meal, and three meetings with the Inquisitor later, Cullen put down his quill and rubbed his eyes.

The stack of condolence letters was nearing fifty, but there were a few hundred names left on the ever-increasing list of casualties. Though he’d been assured by the Inquisitor that they had prepared as much as possible and deaths were inevitable, he still blamed himself. Yes, a few hundred deaths in a force of more than ten thousand was low by any standard of wartime casualties, but it didn’t feel that way when he had to write individual letters to the families of each lost soldier.

He leaned his elbows on his makeshift desk and put his head in his hands. Maker, he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, but every time he closed them he saw images of Alistair — peacefully asleep in Cullen’s bed at Skyhold, rejected and hurt on the eve of battle, cold and grey and still in his arms, turning away and begging him, _“Please don’t.”_

And every time, the empty cavern in his chest gaped so wide and deep Cullen struggled to breathe.

So every time, he lightly smacked his cheeks, reached for a new piece of parchment, and picked up his quill once again.

_To the family of …_

_It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that …_

_May the Maker watch over you, and us all._

_Sincerely,_

_Cullen Rutherford,_ _Commander of the Inquisition_

Another name checked off the list.

Another piece of parchment.

_To the family of …_

His eyes grew heavier and heavier. He rested his chin in a hand and let them droop closed. Just for a moment …

“Cullen?”

Cullen started, tipping his — thankfully almost empty — inkpot and scattering his tidy pile of letters across his desk. The light coming through the opening of the tent indicated the hour was approaching mid-afternoon. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked the time, and thus had no idea how long he might have dozed.

He hurried to organize his papers, and only then did he register the voice that had awoken him.

“… sorry if this is a bad time, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I know you have a lot of work to do …”

Cullen looked up a bit too sharply for his exhausted mind, as it took his eyes a few seconds to bring into focus the pale and tired but clearly robust babbling man standing at the entrance to his tent.

“Alistair!” Cullen jumped to his feet and rushed to meet Alistair, all work tasks rendered immaterial by his arrival. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

Alistair shrugged. “According to the three best Inquisition mages — and I’m pretty sure they each think they’re the first best? — I’m officially healed. I’m fine to walk around. I just need to rest —”

“Then you should —”

“— which I’ll do soon,” Alistair finished pointedly. Then he reached a hand up to rub the back of his head. “But I had something I needed to do first. Do you, uh — could we talk?”

A dense dread clenched in the pit of Cullen’s stomach while that gaping empty cavern in his chest was ignited to life by a devastating spark of hope. “Of course. But please, if you’d like to lay down …” He motioned to his own unslept-in cot.

“I’ve been laying down for too long. I’d like to sit, if that’s all right?”

“Yes.” Cullen brought his chair out from behind the desk. “If you’d like to lean back against something.”

Alistair nodded and lowered himself carefully into the chair, while Cullen sat apprehensively on the edge of the cot.

Neither spoke for several long, awkward moments.

Apprehensive about the looming conversation but anxious to get it over with, Cullen ventured, “How are you feeling?”

Alistair closed his eyes and let out a long, weary sigh before answering. “Exhausted. But otherwise fine.” Softly, he added, “Physically, anyway.”

Cullen nodded. “Solas mentioned possible mental damage, but he said he wouldn’t know until you … woke.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before icy tendrils of dread clutched his heart.

He sprung forward and only just stopped himself from desperately grasping Alistair’s hand — or face, or knee, or anything else within reach — by clenching his fists. “Are you all right?”

Alistair’s expression softened, and he regarded Cullen with a look in his eyes too intense to name. “Yeah.” The word was steeped in that same sort of intensity, so Alistair cleared his throat and said, “Yes. As far as I know, anyway.”

Then he flashed that famous Alistair grin that never failed to make Cullen’s heart beat faster — even now, when he wasn’t sure it could take it.

The spark in his chest grew into an ember without any urging.

“They asked me a bunch of inane questions.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “‘What Age is it?’ ‘Who’s the Divine?’ ‘Whose bastard are you?’”

Cullen’s mouth thinned at that last one, but Alistair didn’t seem to notice.

“I argued that the Divine question was unfair, which was apparently a good enough answer even though they kept pelting me with more …”

Alistair continued rambling for a little while, but Cullen didn’t mind; he was just so happy to see Alistair awake and healthy and speaking to him. And since he knew his time with Alistair like this was limited, he let Alistair go on, relishing the sound of his voice and holding back a sad smile.

“… so as far as I can tell, I’m still me.” Alistair’s smile turned brittle, and that was when Cullen knew to steel his heart. “Still Tainted, still have a sense of humor no one seems to appreciate, still making terrible life decisions based on limited information in the vain hope of making things better.”

Cullen frowned. That was … rather specific.

Alistair shifted awkwardly in his chair. Then he cleared his throat once again. “Leliana told me about some things that happened while I was out.”

Ah. Of course she had. Cullen’s retreat into his work after his brief exchange with her had gone uncontested by everyone, but clearly not unnoticed. He should have known Leliana would insert herself where she had no business.

Careful to show no reaction, Cullen said, simply, “I see.”

“Once she had me alone, she asked what I’d said to you. I told her,” Alistair added, swallowing. “And then she told me … everything.”

Cullen looked away. “And what —”

“You didn’t sleep. You barely ate. You asked her to pray with you, and continued on your own when she left to go back to work, which you refused to do. To the Inquisitor herself.” Alistair spoke neutrally, as if the words had no effect on him.

Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps he was here to ensure Cullen’s heart was broken once and for all. The ember faded to a dull, deep red.

“Dorian said you wouldn’t leave for a moment, not even to clean up, and you refused to play chess because you didn’t want the — the distraction …”

Alistair’s voice trembled, and when Cullen finally met his gaze, his eyes glittered with tears.

“Leliana said there were a few moments where you thought I was — and you — the way you reacted …” Alistair took a shaky breath. “You weren’t just saying it, were you?”

Cullen shook his head, and though his vision blurred, he kept his gaze steady. It was all he could do without losing his composure completely.

Alistair let out a watery laugh. “She demanded I tell her who I think I am, presuming to know how real someone else’s feelings are. And she was right. I’m sorry.”

Cullen leaned forward to reach out, but he ended up on his knees at Alistair’s feet, which somehow felt more appropriate. Gripping each of Alistair’s knees gently in each hand, he said, “No, _I’m_ sorry. I was horrible to you the other night, and selfish, when all you asked for was a bit of time.”

Alistair placed his hand on top of Cullen’s and gave it a squeeze. “Dorian said the only reason you picked up the reports they kept sending you was that I woke up hysterical and said some confusing things that seemed to upset you. Which you also tried to tell me.”

“I didn’t want to work.” Cullen spoke as urgently and desperately as he had earlier. “I swear to you, I just …” He closed his eyes against the images Alistair’s hysteria had conjured.

A hand caressed his cheek, and he leaned into the sweet, gentle touch. When another hand settled on the other cheek to cradle and tilt his face upward, Cullen looked into Alistair’s lovely golden brown gaze to find that same intensity as before, but this time glittering with tears that overflowed in tracks down to his chin.

His heart stuttered in his chest, and the dull ember began to cool.

“You’re okay?” Alistair asked, his gaze roaming up and down Cullen’s face. “You weren’t hurt?”

A fluttering in Cullen’s stomach made its way into his chest, breathing life into the nearly dead ember. Alistair was worried to the point of tears for his safety.

Cullen nodded. “I’m all right.”

“No red lyrium?”

“No red lyrium, or darkspawn blood, or even burns from mage fire.” Cullen squeezed Alistair’s knee. “You saved me, Alistair. I am safe and unharmed.”

Alistair closed his eyes, several tears escaping, and rested their foreheads together before Cullen could marshal his thoughts to do or say anything.

“It was awful,” Alistair said before gasping in another breath. “It showed me things I never thought would be —”

And finally, Cullen did what he should have done when Alistair came to him the night before the battle. He took Alistair in his arms and held him, comforted him as he cried.

“You didn’t die,” Alistair told him between gasps. “But Samson got to you before I could and he — the red lyrium —”

Cullen’s throat burned. He’d thought Alistair’s vision of despair must have been similar to the moment when he saw Alistair cold and still on the cot.

But Alistair, sweet Alistair, feared worse for him than death.

And the night before the battle Cullen had been cruel enough to imply that time with Alistair was a waste, when the time he spent laughing with and being held by him was anything but.

“Shh.” Cullen pulled Alistair closer, grasped him more tightly, brushed a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t real. I promise,” he whispered.

With another gasp, Alistair buried his face in Cullen’s neck. “You told me you were wrong before and Corypheus was right and I should just join like the other Wardens … And if I did, then you would finally — we could —”

He broke off with a full-on sob that sliced Cullen’s heart in two.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cullen said, cradling Alistair as gently as he had when he’d believed him lost.

Alistair took several slow, deep breaths that seemed to calm him. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you the other night. To tell you to be safe and … that I love you.”

Cullen inhaled on a sharp gasp. “Alistair, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize … I’m sorry.”

Alistair huffed and pulled back, annoyance written across his face. “I know you’re sorry. I’m not here to listen to you apologize again. I’m here because …” He let out a long sigh. “You said all those things, but I guess I …” He shrugged and looked away. “I need to know that I’m more to you than just a way to relieve stress and a warm pair of arms to hold you at night.”

Cullen took Alistair’s face in his hands and shook his head. “No, Alistair.” Tears blurred his vision. “You are far more than that to me, and you always have been. When I’m with you, I can forget the pain for a while, and when it returns, it’s not as bad and fades more quickly. I’d nearly forgotten how to laugh until you reminded me. When I first joined the Inquisition, I decided I would give my everything to the cause, and after we lost Haven … I accepted and even welcomed the idea that I wouldn’t live past this war.”

At that, his sweet, kind Alistair frowned, opening his mouth to protest. Coward that he was, Cullen closed his eyes; he couldn’t bear to look at Alistair as he said what came next.

“I fear I cannot give you what you need, that I am not worthy to be yours,” he whispered. “That you deserve someone better, and who deserves you in return.”

As Alistair had before, Cullen rested their foreheads together, and he opened his eyes again.

“But I love you, and I promise you that I will devote every moment of the rest of my life to becoming someone worthy of you. Because when I saw you lying cold and still on that cot and thought I had lost you forever, I realized that my life means nothing without you in it, Alistair. So I will do anything to make you happy, as long as you’ll have me.”

Alistair had begun to smile at the words _I love you_ , and by the time Cullen reached the end, he was practically laughing. “I love you, too.”

And that ember of hope burst into a warm, comforting flame that filled Cullen’s chest.

While he was blinded by the beauty and brightness of Alistair’s joy and that soothing flame of hope and love, Alistair swept him into his arms and kissed him.

Unlike their last kiss, this one didn’t taste like goodbye.

In fact, this kiss was different from all of their previous ones because he didn’t take it for granted. He’d experienced the infinite despair of a Thedas in which Alistair would never again kiss him and vowed from this moment forward to cherish every single one of Alistair’s kisses as a gift from the Maker Himself.

When they broke apart, Alistair flashed that grin Cullen loved so much, and Thedas felt _right_ again.

“You know.” Alistair’s lips brushed against Cullen’s as he spoke. “I was only hoping you’d say you want to make a real go of this and will try to spend a little more time with me. But I guess your answer was okay, too.”

Cullen laughed. He couldn’t believe how much lighter he felt now.

Then he pressed his lips to Alistair’s, and their smiles gave way to tender caresses and tight holds.

“I cannot say that I will never put the Inquisition first,” Cullen said eventually. “But I can promise that I will always make time for you, even if only for a meal or a few hours of sleep.”

“That’s all I ask,” Alistair said softly.

They spent a few more minutes kissing, but soon Alistair slumped in the chair, exhaustion seeping from every pore.

Cullen kissed him once more on the forehead and stood. “You need to rest.”

“I was actually hoping I could rest here.” Alistair rose with him but leaned into Cullen’s arms for support, which Cullen was only too happy to provide. “I’d like to be near you.”

Cullen smiled. “I’d like that, too.”

He helped Alistair sit on the cot. Before he lay down, though, Alistair looked over at Cullen’s desk.

“Have you rested at all?”

Cullen opened his mouth to respond with his usual dismissal, but at Alistair’s raised eyebrow, he thought better of it. “No. I’ve been —”

“That’s what I thought. Since we both need rest …” Alistair smiled weakly and shrugged. “I always sleep better with your arms around me.”

Cullen kissed Alistair’s temple. “So do I. Let me inform the Inquisitor.”

As Alistair lay down, Cullen wrote a quick note to Leliana.

> Please tell the Inquisitor that I will be unavailable for the next several hours, as Alistair and I are resting.
> 
> Cullen

After a moment, he added in small writing at the bottom:

> Thank you.

He flagged down a messenger, informed them he was not to be disturbed, and then joined Alistair on the cot.

It was not meant for two people, much less two large warriors, but Alistair didn’t seem to mind, and neither did Cullen.

They lay facing each other, Cullen’s arms around Alistair and Alistair’s tucked against Cullen’s chest.

Alistair nuzzled his face into Cullen’s neck and whispered, “Stay with me?”

His voice sounded so small and frightened, and that was when Cullen realized that Alistair — who had so often managed to ward off or lessen Cullen’s nightmares — would for the near future need Cullen’s help to keep his own demons at bay.

Cullen tightened his hold. “Always, my love.”

Alistair let out a soft sigh and within a few minutes had relaxed fully into unconsciousness.

As Cullen drifted into the Fade after him, clutching him to his chest that now felt so full of love and warmth he thought it might burst, he promised himself one final thing.

No matter what it took, he would not lose Alistair again.


End file.
